Prelude of the War
by Yashachi
Summary: Aah, a Pre-Suiko II 'fic more or less about Luca. Sure, I've seen Luca portrayed as nothing more than just a complete mad-man, but there's something more to him... really! I've made allusions to this within. Angst and Blood. R&R MUCHLY appreciated.


  
_I have a thirst that I cannot deprive,  
Never have I felt so ALIVE  
There is no battle I could not survive,  
Feeling like this;  
Feeling ALIVE.  
~Alive, Jekyll and Hyde Broadway Musical  
  
  
_

[**Prelude of the War**]  
By [Ultema][1]  
(ultema@aol.com)

  
Armored hooves crushed the virgin-green grasses of the plains beneath; a winding serpent of cavalry twisted its way for miles across the lush grassland. Banners displaying the Silver Beast stood erect within the ranks, wavering lightly in the gentle spring breeze that washed over the open land. All was silent and perfectly carved in strategic fashion as the serpentine line continued to slither its way towards a small village.  
  
At the lead of the line was a massive, armored steed painted a murky midnight noir. Silver plates shimmered under the night-sun, almost blinding as the moon rays relentlessly struck off the slick metal. The equine's steps were proud and firm, head held high, and sable lenses focused upon every detail around it.  
  
The licorice mount's rider was a similarly impressive sight. Prince Luca Blight, of Highland; a man as tall and as fearsome as any great warrior should be. His shoulders -- broad and powerful -- were obscured by a dove-hued pauldrons, lined in the finest antique gold. An imperial violet cloak, strewn about those shoulders and wrapped effortlessly around them, swilled and billowed about the form of the man. Deep navy hues clung to the frame; finely formed muscles worked like liquid metal below a lightly-tanned complexion, upon which lapped ebony fangs of wildly cut filaments, nipping at the air that dared to stir them. Below the errant dragon tails pierced a pair of doppleganger pinpoints, barely visible as a frosty cerulean. Large, metal-obscured hands held laxly at the reigns of the Prince's fearsome mount.  
  
"Lord Luca," a voice of the sweetest baritone rumble pierced the silence as a silver steed approached the great black stallion upon which the addressed was perched. The Prince's pinpoint eyes shifted upon the new rider; mouth, a straight line of unreadable expression.  
  
"The village is just ahead, my Lord. Shall we deploy the Second Company?" asked the newcomer; a rider of monarchal features. Caesarian-cropped hair of a beautiful, mellifluous silver licked the contour of a finely formed face, down to the stormy teal eyes and gently aquiline features. The silver-haired man's own expression was dead-pan, black raiments blending into the night, though the lily border striking against the abysmal hue. He was one of the greatly respected members of the Highland Army; a Captain known as The Gentleman, Culgan.  
  
"No," replied the Prince with a voice similar to that of the throaty purr of a great feline. His stone-set expression melted into a twisted, wicked grin. Lupine canines shimmered gently in the pale light as the Prince closed his eyes, allowing the snorting equine mount to lead him of its own free will. "I will go alone. Those pigs cannot withstand even just myself. I don't need you." The Prince offered as his hands snapped against the reigns of his mount, and faster away did the steed gallop; closer to the Mad Man's target.  
  
  
  


************  
  
  
  


The echo of screaming voices; drowned out by nothing more than the fearsome roar of flames. The dead littered the ground; a testament to the arrival of Highland's Mad Prince. Stains of sweet sanguine spilled against the dirt paths soaked and congealed within the sand. Crimson flowed freely as the homes, buildings, trees, and plant life burned away, leaving nothing more than the ashen cinders filling the lungs of those few left living with a charcoal debris. Life was slowly extinguished one by one -- An entire village, taken by a single man.  
  
Footfalls rang against the hard, cold stone; fast and furious running, as though from pursuit of a terrible creature. Lost breath stung cold night air; steam forming where mouth and mist met, and innocent peridot eyes flickered in paranoia like a doe. Flaxen hair whipped about the frigid atmosphere as the girl came to the very end of the path. The moon shone brightly just over the cliff, and the crag was illuminated with a gentle, haunting glow -- A light sense of comfort.  
  
The young woman leaned over slightly, placing her hands on her knees as she attempted to catch her breath. The beast, was it near? The scent of scorched wood and flesh was still noticeable, even this far away from the village down below. Her eyes burned as she looked off into the distance ; towering pillars of flame and smoke danced in the night.  
  
Then there was the snap of a branch.  
  
The young woman cast a wary, sideways glance to the brush from which she emerged, and the shimmer of dove metal was visible. Terror struck the fleeing girl, as pale tiers parted, but no words or sounds emerged. Instead, her eyes widened as she stumbled backwards, catching herself upon her hands.  
  
Out of the foliage stepped the Mad Prince; eyes wild with fury, and body stained in the crimson of life. One hand was wound about the hilt of a large Claymore, previously strapped at his side. The Prince advanced upon the young woman, until she could go no further, lest she fall off the craggy surface of the overhands backwards.  
  
"Leave me be!" shrieked the girl as she darted forward in a desperate attempt to flee from the murderer. Her shoulder brushed the navy cloth on the Prince's arm, and time seemed to stand still. All at once, a sharp pain erupted from her abdomen, a fiery pain that trembled up her body as she felt her energy fleeting, vision dimming.  
  
"Dare you resist me, _sow_," the Prince hissed gently as his hand closest to the woman wound about her, until his massive arms engulfed her completely in a mock embrace. His lips placed close to her ear, and the fabric upon his arm slowly becoming a tainted damp black where he held the weakening girl. " You swine are all the same. You fear death, yet you kill. You fear pain, yet you abuse. You fear desecration, yet you rape. Fear is a stupid emotion ... Embrace your end!"  
  
The young woman's eyes were heavy, lulling out of weakness as she reached up with her free arm, grasping the dampened cloth of the Prince's shirt. Trembling lips opened in a vain attempt to reason. The question playing on the tip of her tongue was silent, nothing more than a heavy breath escaped her lungs; a shuddering cry for help that pierced the dark night like a shrill siren. A plea for release; release that was granted.  
  
Cold, heavy steel was forced deeper into the abdomen of the wailing young woman. Her shrill cry mounting to nothing more than a squeak before the flames of life within her body were quelled and vanished below a curtain of gurgles and sputters. Only seconds later was it that she had slumped forward, the fullness of her weight pressed against the breastplate of the Prince, and her head leaning against its cold surface.  
  
With little more than a disgusted expression, the Royal Wolf allowed the girl's body to fall from his arms ever so slowly. A trail of scarlet that had leaked from the corner of her mouth followed her motionless head as she slipped down, staining his breastplate, and finally collapsed with a sickening thud to the rocky ground at the Prince's feet. Dust was stirred from its resting place, and settled again just as a pool of scarlet began to form where she lay.  
  
The Prince grinned to himself as he stood there. The satisfaction and power was incredible, just staring at the gaping mouth and void-like eyes of the foolish young woman at his feet. The grin twisted, contorted to a toothy maw that only grew in size as he drew his right hand upwards to face level. A trail of red slithered down the gauntlet he wore, and he watched. Watched in the pale moonlight with a lust for blood, mounting. He watched as the power of life dripped from his fingertips, and he laughed. He laughed, knowing that one day, all of the pigs would pay.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**Author's Notes**: Wheee! Well ... this was written in a relatively short time (45 minutes. Did it first period in school one day), so please forgive any errors grammatically and otherwise :P Aaaanyway, I thought I'd cook up a little something for Luca Pre-Suikoden II, near the VERY beginning of the game, I guess. I've seen Luca portrayed in mostly a completely, insensitive demented way ... but if you really think about it, he's not really completely insensitive! In fact, he makes more sense then a lot of people do today :P Oh well, I just have a thing for the guy. I felt a lot more sorry for him than I ever did Pilika >V ... Anyhoo, I didn't think about putting Seed in, though.. nor Jhee. Maybe some other time. Oh yeah, this story has a picture to go with it. Aaa ... It's up on my [Elfwood][2] page ^__^ [This][3] is the link! :D ... Mou.. While I'm here I may as well plug [My Elfwood Page][4]. ^^; Please feel free to comment on both this and my gallery :P!!

   [1]: mailto:ultema@aol.com
   [2]: http://www.elfwood.com
   [3]: http://ew-intra.lysator.liu.se/extranet/mirror/1/n/i/nia/blerg1.jpg
   [4]: http://elfwood.lysator.liu.se/loth/n/i/nia/nia.html



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